


Visiting Hours

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Bad Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, F/M, Prison, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: In which Clara and the Doctor...get euphemistic.I have no idea where this came from.





	Visiting Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by imaginary_golux and infinite_regress.
> 
> I thought about posting something else, but hey, it's New Doctor Who Day.

The Doctor straightened up as a guard approached his door. Perhaps the misunderstanding had finally been cleared up and his release had been obtained. While the Arnovan government was generally corrupt and tyrannical, their prison system was downright civilized for such primitives. He would have to encourage them to keep it after he toppled their leadership.

“You have a visitor,” squelched the guard. He sprang to his feet. Clara must have gotten back to the TARDIS and put together the equipment he would need to break out. “I wouldn’t be so excited,” the guard snorted through his tentacles. “She’s hideous.”

The Doctor was still trying to figure out who would have come to visit him when the door swung open. “Clara! It is you!”

“Who did you think it would be, you ridiculous man?” she laughed. “I got everything you mentioned in your phone call _and_ smuggled it in here in my clothes.” Her nose wrinkled. “Let’s just say I’m just glad I didn’t have to try to get the sonic screwdriver in here.”

“Clara, I could kiss you!” he shouted involuntarily.

Instead of replying with a flirty quip, Clara’s face filled with blood. “Funny you should say that,” she managed quietly.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned forward, immediately on defense.

Clara fretted with the sonic sunglasses in her hands. “Let me preface this by saying that there was only one way for me to get in with minimal searching and spend time with you without guards or security cameras.” The Doctor’s face clouded over as he realized what she was implying. “Don’t worry, it was easy; I just had to show them the marriage certificate we picked up on Ennevir Three.”

“By accident,” he added automatically. “Someone leaves a bit of farming equipment out, a rogue Cyberman attacks, and one jumped shovel later...”

“Space shovel. No, don’t correct me. It cut through that Cyberman’s armor like butter. Space shovel.”

“Now this entire planet thinks we’re romantically entangled,” the Doctor continued, waving his hands and struggling to find something to complain about.

Clara bit back a laugh. “Sounds like a dreadful euphemism. But honestly, is that so bad? Besides, we need to move quickly if the rebels’ plan is going to work.” She concluded, her jaw set at a familiar angle.

He sighed, knowing that she would not be moved. “Fine.”

“Honestly, you shouldn’t sound so offended.” Clara ripped at the lining of her jacket; beneath lay the schematics for the prison. She winked. “I’m almost good-looking enough to keep up with you, you silver fox.”

“The guard said you were hideous,” he blurted out for something to say as she tugged the pins from her hair: tranquilizers in case he needed to subdue a guard.

“Well, now I know who’s first up against the wall,” she kidded, untucking her blouse and tearing off what looked like the spare buttons but were actually a pair of miniature ion detonators.

“Seems reasonable for such blasphemy.” He averted his eyes as Clara removed her bra where the lockpicks he would need for the manual locks were concealed.

“Don’t joke about that,” she scolded him. She fished the last components out from the toes of her shoes.

“Who said I was joking?” At Clara’s scowl, his head bowed. “Sorry, boss.” He checked over everything. “I should be able to escape with this. Make sure the rebels are ready to pick me up by the north drainage ditch at three this morning.” He stood and tried the door. “Locked.”

“Maybe I have to leave first?” Clara tried her door. “Also locked.” She turned back toward him; he was already scanning the room with the sonic sunglasses.

His tongue wetted thin, dry lips. “Well, they aren’t conducting any audio or visual surveillance. But the locks are linked to a monitoring device. Haven’t seen one like this in a long time. Very difficult to fool.”

“What kind of monitoring device?”

“It, ah.” He steepled his hands and drummed his fingertips together. “It makes sure we’ve completed our intended purpose.”

To his surprise, Clara laughed. “You mean the doors don’t open until we get freaky.”

“Knock boots,” he agreed.

“Make the beast with two backs.”

“Have a bit of the old in-out, in-out.”

“Dance the horizontal tango.”

“The four-legged foxtrot.”

“Put the devil into hell.”

“Rumbusticate.”

Clara, already teetering on the edge of laughter, gave free reign to her mirth. “Seriously, rumbusticate?”

“Ace was fond of that one. I was Scottish in that face, too. She liked the way I rolled the r.”

“Say it again.”

“Rrrr-umbusticate.”

“Keep going,” she urged him, her hand sliding up under her skirt. “What?” she asked as his eyebrows raised. “You said the sensors were extremely hard to fool. So I’d rather have a bit of fun than starve to death in here.” She nodded towards him. “So help me get in the mood. Strip. And keep rolling your r’s.”

“Clara, I...”

“Look, you just said that you didn’t think I was hideous. I assume we’re physiologically compatible. So what’s the hold-up?”

“I haven’t… Not in this body.” He blushed furiously. “Not for a long time. Since before Christmas. Before Trenzalore.”

Clara eyed him hungrily. “I’ll be gentle. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

“Gentle is fine,” he assured her quickly. “Gentle is good.”

“So, wait, has anyone seen you naked?” His embarrassed silence was the only reply she needed. She stepped closer and stretched up on her toes. “I haven’t been with anyone since I met you. I’ve been obsessed with you. With what you looked like under all those clothes. How those hands would feel on my skin, my nipples, my arsehole. How you’d feel inside me. If you had a cock or tentacles or some great black hole that would swallow me whole. I wanted all of it. All of you.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, just enough stubble to be scratchy. “This doesn’t have to be anything, mean anything. Change anything. But I want this, and I think you do too.”

“Clara, my Clara,” he purred into the crown of her head. “The question was never whether I wanted you. The question was only whether I could let you go.”

“Then don’t.” Her palms pressed hot against him, sliding under his coat and helping it off his shoulders. “Don’t let me go. Let all of me have all of you.”

Clara doubted the Doctor was the type to read consent into clothing, but she supposed her appearance would leave no doubt her as to her sincerity. She stood, barefoot, blouse untucked, hair rumpled, jacket and shoes discarded on the floor. She snorted inwardly; he probably thinks she looked like she’d just had an intimate rendezvous, not like she was about to begin one.

Her fingers worked through the buttons of his shirt with surprising nimbleness, then his belt and fly. He sat for a moment to work off his shoes and trousers and pants. He tried not to shiver under her predatory gaze. “Ready to shuck my oyster?” Clara asked, unbuttoning her blouse, freeing two brown, pebbled nipples.

“Only if you never say that again,” he agreed as she stepped out of her skirt and knickers.

“Test my suspension? Get your bean waxed?”

“Please stop,” he moaned just before she sank down onto him where he sat. “Don’t stop!” he corrected immediately.

“That’s better,” Clara gasped, bucking up and down.

“Rutting,” he whispered in her ear.

“Better still,” she breathed.

“Rolling in the hay. Rummaging in the root cellar.”

Her breath came in ragged pants as she squeezed his shoulder. “This really shouldn’t be working for me, but seriously, that accent.”

“Rumpy-pumpy. Rocking and rolling. Riding St. George. Releasing the Kraken.”

“Close,” she promised, clenching around him.

“Roughing up the suspect,” he finished, and she shuddered and went boneless on top of him.

“I am so glad they weren’t recording that,” Clara sighed, locks of hair plastered to her face. “How long do you think they’ll give us to get dressed?”

“No idea.”

“Next time, we cuddle,” she insisted. “But I don’t fancy getting ogled by a bunch of guards. And god, I need a shower.” She kissed him goodbye. “See you at three?”

“Looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Euphemisms taken from the following sources: https://thoughtcatalog.com/jim-goad/2014/12/400-euphemisms-for-sexual-intercourse/  
> http://mentalfloss.com/article/57872/31-adorable-slang-terms-sexual-intercourse-last-600-years  
> http://www.gurl.com/2015/05/18/weird-funny-slang-terms-for-sex/#3


End file.
